


Lovers alone wear sunlight.

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, Fkin FAGGOTS, Fluf, M/M, Oneshot, Writer AU, also smut?., jeanmarco, jeanmarco oneshot, marcojean - Freeform, marcojean coffee au, marcojean coffeeshop au, marcojean fluf, marcojean library au, marcojean oneshot, marcojean smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean finds a pouring day in his rainy life.<br/>Jean finds poetry and sex.<br/>Jean finds that lovers alone wear sunlight. </p><p>(there's a lot of references to poetry and deep conversations but also some smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers alone wear sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> Few songs to go with the story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hjPZpaXNsw&list=PL0-ioh-j0tS5g5v3CAeJTacWbVKQBeG-I&index=1

It was a stormy afternoon. I had already planned going to the one place I never went but when it started pouring I was more than glad I had.  England is one those places you rarely get a real storm. The saying is opposite to us; it always rains but it never pours. Which is a quote that could have be referring to my life just as well. It was dark, boring but not really melancholic, it lacked love and fights. Just me and just my life.

So maybe was a little bit glad I was completely drained when I walked inside the small south london library. The day had just started and it was already a wild one; filled with books, old smell and pouring rain. I got the book To kill a mocking from the classics section- as I had to read it for my boring College English class- and then I walked on to go sit down in the small coffee shop which had recently been added to the library. It seemed like the best and most exciting thing that had happened there in a while.

Though getting coffee lit up every day of mine, pulling out my ear dops in which classic rock was playing seemed like one of the worst. Funny thing is; it had to happen if I was planning on ordering anything.  This is not just a simple whine, this is a very serious problem in my life.

"May I take your order?" I looked at the girl, she had red cheeks from working and a silvery voice that fitted the old soul, jazzy-ish song that was playing on the background.

"Espesso please" I took out my credit card as she started making my coffee. Impatiently biting my lip and trying to place where I had heard the song playing on the radio. It was a classic, then again, that didn't mean I knew it.

"That'll be one pound and fifty cents, oh excuse me sir -"  I nodded  "we don't take credit card."  This day was a serious fucking rollercoaster and I didn't like the embarrassing route it was taking. I was never good handling situations like these; that's why I didn't spend much time going out. Shit like this always happened. It was bad damn karma I had built up by being a complete ass and there was no running away from it.  "I could keep your order while you go out to go to a bank?"

Now a warm and and gravely voice came from behind me  "Christa hold up for a second, I'll pay his"

I chocked a little "Wait n-"  

Too late, the man had walked up to the cash register with a soft and sweet smile on his face. He was muscled, wearing a blouse that would have been considered rather hipster if I had been the one wearing it, and a quite skinny jeans. "Please add a cappuccino and a brownie"

"Well good morning Marco, in good mood today or something?"  The girl asked. Which made me think of how often this man exactly went here and how fucking kind he was.  

"I'm always in a good mood, sweetheart"  He handed her ten pounds while she giggled. Maybe they were a thing or something, sure looked that way. Or maybe they were just two people that were way too kind.

The man turned to me with a big smile on his face and handed me my espresso "There you go"

"Seriously man, you didn't have to" Leave it to the asshole to not want indepth anyone.

"It's like one pound, there's no problem.. anyway, you look like you deserved it too"

"Believe me, I don't" Flatly said, I didn't.

He smiled "Why would ladies take it and man not?"

Now that was a good question. It also was an answer to why he had given it to me in the first place; he thought I looked good. Or maybe not, the situation kind of screamed for it too. Any nice man would have saved a lady from such a situation, even if they didn't want anything out of it.  "Still" I mumbled.

"Are you-"  he awkwardly looked at the book in my hand, while carrying two of his "planning on reading, while drinking that?"

"Depends.. are you planning on sitting down with me if I don't?"

He laughed. It made my feelings pour, as I had never seen such a laugh. He had lots of laughing wrinkles, freckles that disappeared into them and then returning to match his light tan.  "Well, kind of, yeah. That was going going to be my next question."

"Surprise, I'm a mind reader"

"More like straight forward and kind of sarcastic, but it's at least equally as amazing"

I bit my lip "Well now that you've figured that much you might as well sit down, I owe you one"

He did and put his books on the table. Howl by allen ginsberg, said the thinnest book. While the thicker one was written by Jack Kerouac, I failed to see the title.  "To kill a mockingbird?" He asked me. A conversation starter. Very classy.

"For school"

"I figured. I read it when I was fourteen, changed my life really, became obsessed with classics, specially the ones focussing on discrimination"

"Oh really now?"

"It's interesting to think about how lucky we are; if we had lived in another time period I could've been hung really"

"I have a hard time imagining that, as you seem to fit right into any society." That was lie, because I didn't even have a hard time imagining him bending me over, and I sure as hell wished that his words were implying he was planning on doing such.

"Well, luckily some things aren't to be seen by the bare eye"

I dropped it. It seemed like the best things to do. He told me some things about the classics, I enjoyed listening for once because it fitted him so fucking wonderful. He told me about the song that had been playing; it was Ray Charles which meant I indeed had heard it before and I was right about it being a classic, covered by many. Allen ginsberg, was apparently a writer of poetry focussed on his position of being an outcast as homosexual. He was a shy man; Marco said saw himself in him.  "So you are gay?"  I had flopped out, which might have been the best thing; he thought straightforwardness was amazing and he was going to get the consequences.

"Well, yeah" he mumbled, without a hint of shame. It was amazing.

I leaned forward "So tell me about these poems"

Marco smiled  "My favorite one is; I saw the best minds of my generation"

"Would you read it to me?"

To which he nodded and started " _I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,_  
 _starving hysterical naked,_  
 _dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking_  
 _for an angry fix,_  
 _angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly_  
 _connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,_  
 _who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking_  
 _in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating_  
 _across the tops of cities contemplating jazz -_ "   

His feelings- whether it were Allen's or Marco's- filled me up. I breathed in and focussed on Marco's lips. The lips that helped producing such a honeyed sound.  The rain outside vanished, the coffee shop vanished, everything vanished until it was just me and this man I had just met. Us in the negro streets, us in the 50's, us in each other's zone and life. Which was weird. Which was nicer than it should have been.

" _mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani_  
 _saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio_  
 _with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their_  
 _own bodies good to eat a thousand years_."

Marco looked up, as if he had been lost for a while too "I'm sorry, that was longer than I realized it would be.. when I'm alone I don't notice it as much"  

And hell, the poem was long. Did I mind? No. No I didn't mind, because Marco's voice was magic. Because I wanted this kind man and all the damn poetry that came with him.  "Marco, if you had lived, and talked like that in any time period, a lot of man would have been hung and locked up"

"Thanks that's..-"

"Me too, probably, I mean, I hope, I would have been"  This can be quickly translated to ; please, just fuck up up a wall, with a whole room cracking and your voice as warm and lovingly, saying my name with such honey, such sweetness.

"Do you mean-"  He swallowed heavily "You wouldn't have to if it was just the two of us"

"Alright, shall we get the fuck out of this place then?"

"Hey you're talking about my second house, be kind" he scolded me jokingly.

"If you take me to your first I might, poetry boy"

He looked in my eyes. Deeply. His eyes were chocolate brown and kindly worried "I-  I don't want to get this wrong-"

"Well I ain't asking you to read poetry to me for sure, we wouldn't need any privacy for that now would we?"

He smiled a little too cutely while he agreed. Agreeing with his low, wonderful voice and making me follow him into the small streets of London. Into a big old house with one room for every student. Clothes drying above the wooden stairs and distant pop playing.  Marco apologized and told me random things that suddenly seemed so interesting. I guess that once a person had the right serenity, and potentially the right everything, every little detail matters. It even pisses you off to not know enough even if you usually wouldn't care for such a thing. And that's how I felt this second. The way I had felt a few times before. I recognized it too quickly, with this man. It scared me a little bit as I- even if I had accepted not being straight- had never really felt strongly about a man in a second. Maybe because men usually didn't have such a charming air hanging around them.

The door unlocked, a room full of books and old stuff was open for us. It warmed my heart, as my own black and white room was the shittiest place on planet earth "So, a drink?"

"Are you referring to your mouth that produces these sweet coffee like sounds or like a real drink, because it's getting kind of vague which kind of thirsty we are now"

His eyes widened at how much of dick I turned out to be and then he turned to me, face close, "well you made yourself pretty clear now"  

"Well you haven't" And the price for sassiest most straight forward person on the planet once again goes to Jean kirschtein.

He pushed his lips on mine. He congratulated me without knowing, maybe because we indeed- even though we had been sitting so calmly and kindly not too long ago- really were fucking thirsty.  He pushed my mouth oped and kissed me deeply. Sweet and stern, like his voice, like his whole being. Like the whole pouring day that had gone way too quickly.

Pouring rain washes away every little bit of sad history you have left.  "Clear enough?"

"Like a book"

"I can reassure you that books aren't always very clear"

I chuckled "depends whether or not the reader understands it"

"Do you?"

"Well, the book is saying he's fucking gay and that I have a really nice ass"

It was his turn to laugh softly, his forehead against mine "If I pretend you are not as much of a confident ass, can I translate that to the question 'please take me to bed with you?'"

"You can even add some nice compliments and a backstory about how much I have longed for a good love making"  

He kissed me again. Then whispered directions into my neck. He was pretty good at it as I eventually ended up in his bed with his lips still on me. My shirt lying somewhere in his small kitchen we had passed and my pants half off; the man was not only a book nerd, he was a multitasker too. Which was kind of amazing.  

He bit my neck and held my hips tight as I tried to kiss while noting for him to pull out his shirt. He filled me up with lust and it made be terrible at doing things at the same time. So he undressed himself. So he licked my nipple and I moaned.  "This is going quite fast" he whispered into my neck.

"I don't see the problem"

"True, Romeo and Juliet knew each other sixs days"

"Though I love your random facts, can you do that shit after I get an orgasm?"  

He laughed as he started pulled out my Jeans, shaking his head because he couldn't believe he was doing this, because he couldn't believe how fucking straight forward I was.  "That I had mistaken you for a kind reader"

"Disappointed?"

Marco's lips found mine and his hand slit over my hard on. Which was the only right answer he could have given.  It was nice, really enjoying being with someone, and not only enjoying what they could give me.  "Not at all"  his smokey voice breathed on me.

Soon though, no more words were to be said. He smiled and I just breathed and moaned into his neck. Then soon after he showed me how sweet his mouth could really be as he locked it around me and bopped up and down. Leaving both of us wordless, hard, moaning and hot.  "fuck" I managed. That's where it stayed though. His whole being and his whole skills filled me. As if my whole body was coming, not just the lower me.

"Marco, fuck, I-"  He lifted himself and I came onto his chest, he wiped his wet and red mouth then smiled at me lovingly.

"Could you lift your hips for me?" he asked, not even expecting an answer as I was panting heavily. I answered by doing as he asked. By moaning as I felt his fingers enter me. By smiling and kissing his shoulder.  Little things I rarely did when having sex, because this didn't really feel like any quick fuck.  Marco was different from usual girls and boys I had known and fucked since forever. Marco was soft and strong, maybe he was.. my coffee in the morning. Which was something I hadn't dared to dream I'd find. And even now, with his fingers inside of me, I was scared to think such a thing.

"I need you to-"

"Fuck not this shit, fucking just fuck-"

"Should I be worr-"

"Just fuck me Marco, Jesus fucking-"  He kissed me softly. Understood. My hips were lifted and his fingers were replaced. Then he filled me. Shit. He filled my whole being and I screamed. He asked sweet questions and hushed me kindly. Then right after he moved, excusing himself for doing so but he couldn't stop himself, he just wanted me. Which I was glad about. I fucking wanted him to want me because else the whole thing would be scaringly one sided. I never lusted after people this fast, but right now it didn't work kindly. I wanted him to move like he did. Which he did. I wanted him to smile and moan softly while I bit into his shoulder, screaming and panting; most likely leaving a pretty bad mark.  

Marco woke something inside of me. Something that made me hang around his neck and whimper weakly. Painfully, yet unable to stop.   "You're wonderful" he said. No I love you. It would have been bullshit. But I believed him when he said I was wonderful. He made me feel that way. He made me feel like my weak whimpering body and my assholic straightforwardness, were charms. Like they were beautiful and the things other people saw as terrible habits, were things to be cherished.

He cherished them with his body, by moving with me as if we were one, holding me up as I cried pleasured cries onto him.  

 

" _I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying._  
 _Saw the red blossoms in the night light, sin's gone, they had all grown, in a moment, and were waiting stopped in time for the day sun to come and give them… Flowers which as in a dream at sunset I watered faithfully not knowing how much I loved them._ "   He read out loud, me draped around and over him. My body numb and painfully. Filled with warmth, colour and sun. The things that were rare, in rainy London.   

He stopped mid sentence somewhere in the Allen Ginsberg poem "I don't know your name, that makes me feel really bad"

"What is a name when you know a person?" I replied softly, into his neck.  "I know no names for flowers, I like them better than humans with names"

"That's true" he whispered. Not trying to push me. Though he knew as well as I did that no name meant no second time. No way to repeat this.

I looked up at him and kissed his temple "It's Jean."

The smile he showed that second warmed the whole room, if not the whole world we were ignoring that second.  "That's so fitting"

"All French are assholes too" I mumbled. He laughed softly and lovingly. Then snuggled his nose into my hair. Kissed my head.  "French have sex with artists, and dream of sticking with the perfectness they are"

"I'm not-"

"I saw all your papers,  you write poetry don't you?"

Marco smiled.  "They aren't perfectness, but I think we are.."  I swear, I saw a little bit of sun behind the closed curtains. Though I must have imagined it. In London it always rains but the sun rarely comes out. Until today. The saying became useless and he couldn't quite fit it onto his life or the place he felt like living anymore. Not even switched, turned or changed.

"Tell me a quote about sunlight, Poetry boy?"

Marco laughed a little "well Mr Cummings once said-"  he felt two lips on his ear  "That 'lovers alone wear sunlight."  

"He did? I guess.. that must be it then"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Allen Ginsberg poem: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/howl-parts-i-ii 
> 
> and a voice audio (which is great): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gx_GEFik_Z0 
> 
> Also this is jack with my favourite prose: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hjPZpaXNsw&list=PLFmks_sStRbutoKI0a1ztteNmGfgtNOGO 
> 
>  
> 
> Truly beautiful, please check it out!


End file.
